


Punchline

by TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death, Depression, Funeral, Gen, Loss, Mourning, Sibling Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 05:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21351226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone/pseuds/TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone
Summary: George goes to Fred's funeral.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Punchline

**Author's Note:**

> Had a dream, had to get it out of me.

George laid on Fred’s bed with his back to the door, he was wearing the dress robes his mother had left him though they were getting a bit crumpled from being laid on, truth be told. He ran his fingers slowly over the worn duvet and breathed out slowly as there was a soft knock on the door and it shuddered and opened, the door leaned a little from where the door was off it’s hinges at the top as a result of one of their japes-

“George? We’re going to be leaving shortly, are you coming?” Molly asked softly, her voice had the same strained, painful tone to it that everyone else seemed to have.

George slowly sat up, staring out the tiny window at the far end of the room, they’d fought for some time who would get to sleep nearest the window, then they just took turns like always but this was Fred’s bed ultimately and-

“George?”

George blinked and got to his feet, tugging his sleeves down and adjusting his robes, he nodded and turned around, holding an arm out for her with a desperate, fake smile plastered across his face, “Shall we then?”

Molly hesitated, looking at her son in a calculating, knowing way that only a parent could then she nodded and linked their arms, “If you aren’t up for it-”

“Can’t very well miss a funeral!” George laughed shortly, “That would be bad form and he’d never let me live it down! Ha, get it? ‘Live it down’? Because I’m the . . . “ He didn’t get to finish, the look on her face making him trail off.

No one talked much when George entered the room, not that they had been talking much anyway, in fact, this was the quietest the Burrow had been in living memory as the Weasley family with their plus one’s and family friends were all dressed in dark robes looking somber. 

George wanted to puke, it was so depressing, he looked around and try as he might, he was finding it very hard to find the funny in the situation. Funny, usually he and Fred livened the mood wherever they went, everything was an opportunity for a joke or a prank, every sad situation could be made better with the right timing and . . . he gave up and sat down, looking out the window so he wouldn’t have to see all their miserable, mourning faces until their rides pulled up and they all piled in. Mercifully the cars were large enough that George didn’t have to sit too close to anyone.

* * *

George recognized everyone at the funeral, but he didn’t know how to interact with them, except Lee who hugged him immediately. His friend, who had somehow gotten taller than him, held George out at arm’s length and his mouth seemed to be fighting to say something then he shook his head, “I-I want to make the joke  _ so badly  _ . . . “

“I know,” George nodded, “Here, I’ll make it for you,  _ ‘which one are you then?' _ ’. Easy way to remember now,” He jerked his chin toward where everyone was gathered, “One in the spotlight’s Fred.”

Lee swallowed and bit his lip, “I’m-”

“I know. Everyone is.” George swallowed and looked up at the sky with it’s bright sun and cloudless blue expanse, “Why couldn’t he be buried on a day that isn’t the nicest day we’ve had this summer? Rained every other day this week but no, Freddy has to muck up the first real sunshine . . . bastard is probably laughing it up right now, seeing all our sad little faces . . . “

Lee didn’t say anything for a moment then let his arms drop, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Neither do I, never finished a whole sentence on my own before.” George said softly, his eyes fixed on the gathered mass of black-clad witches and wizards.

Lee was about to respond but they were interrupted by someone saying they were going to start. George swept past his and Fred’s best friend and thought to shove his way to the front but everyone moved to let him through and suddenly the imagery was like something out of a very bad dream.

At the end of a tunnel of sad, living people was a casket waiting to be lowered into the ground with George standing all alone and he became keenly aware that he looked awful. His red hair was mashed down on one side from lying in one position for too long while the other side was unkempt, eyes red and puffy from crying, cheeks itchy from the tears he’d just let roll down his face since he’d already soaked every sleeve of every jumper he’d ever owned from wiping his eyes and a dusting of stubble finished out the disheveled look he was apparently going for. And  _ Lord  _ did he feel equal parts over- and underdressed, he’d never worn so many dark colored articles at one time willingly, he hadn’t even picked an interesting bowtie or a lapel flower that nipped you if you smelled it, there was nothing up either sleeve and his pockets were empty, not so much as a single projectile hidden in a sock.

The remaining Weasley twin slowly moved closer, every step getting heavier, the faces got sadder, the sky stayed bright and cheerful while George dragged his heart kicking and screaming to the big box. He stopped at the foot of the coffin without really remembering taking the first step. George blinked then chuckled, “Hey, Fred, remember that time when we thought we’d try some Muggle magic? We thought it would be a good joke if you climbed in a box and I did the trick where they saw the person in half, thank heavens mum found us before I started sawing through her grandfather’s antique oak chest, huh?” he swallowed and sniffed, “Funny isn’t it? I can’t think of a single stupid joke to tell . . . “He looked around and smiled, “Imagine that? A Weasley twin with nothing to say?” George put his hand shakily on the coffin, not shocked to see several water droplets follow his hand, “I suppose I should say something meaningful but we never wrote our jokes down, you silly git, I told you this would bite us in the end! I told you we should keep track of the jokes, ‘you’ll thank me later’ I said. Well now look at us, I’ve got all the lead-ups-” He swallowed, it was getting harder to keep his knees from going out under him, “And you bloody bastard, you took all the punchlines.”

There were words said that George wasn’t listening to and he stood watching as they prepped to lower the coffin and as it began to sink into the ground, George slowly dropped to his knees, mouth open and eyes streaming. He looked around helplessly until his family swarmed him. George sobbed into someone’s shoulder, his fingers digging into grass as half of his soul was buried under the ground just as the wind picked up and clouds were starting to gather.

* * *

They stayed at the grave until it was filled in and George ran out of tears, he was hugging tightly onto Ron and Ginny while Percy, Molly, Fleur and Charlie arranged the flowers and used magic to clean up the plot. Arthur was standing patting Harry and Hermoine’s shoulders while Bill was talking quietly to him over their heads. George slowly looked around again and he breathed out, “So . . . how long do you suppose I should wait to reopen the shop?”

They all looked at him, their faces mixes of shock, confusion, and concern, Arthur slowly moved out of his cluster and cleared his throat, “George, no one would blame you for taking-”

“I take any more time and I’m going to lose my mind.” George said, jaw clenching, “If I wait any longer, it’ll never happen. I can’t let that happen, I can’t . . . “ He shook his head, eyes trained on the tombstone, “I can’t let the laughter die with him.”

“I’ll help.” Ron said quickly, wiping at his face, “I’ll help you run it, just show me what you want me to do and I’ll figure it out.”

George blinked at his little brother then he nodded, “Weirdly appropriate, but thank you.”

“We’ll all help,” Bill moved closer, taking Fleur’s hand, “If we can, you don’t have to do this alone.”

George swallowed and nodded again, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Arthur clapped his son on the shoulder warmly and tried a shaky smile, “It’s the Weasley Way, isn’t it? We’re a family, we work together.”

George looked around at them all then he looked at the grave and nodded, “Can I have a minute with him?”

“We’ll be at the cars when you’re ready.” Charlie said and they all trudged down the hill and out of the cemetery.

George watched them go then turned back around, “We shouldn’t have turned his teddy bear into a spider . . . that was rubbish of us . . . “ He squatted down and ran his fingers over the fresh rectangle of turf, “I regret a lot of things, but none of those things involve you until that one bit, you know the thing where we thought we were invincible and I lost an ear and we didn’t take that as a bloody sign? I don’t regret standing up and fighting, I don’t regret being there that day, I promise I’m not a coward nor do I think that anything different would have happened if I’d done anything different that day. So don't worry, I don't blame myself. I just . . . “ He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, “I just wish I didn’t feel so lost . . . I know what you’re going to say too, I’ll find the funny again, I’ll find the jokes, and I’ll keep the shop open for you and for me, Freddy. I’ll keep going, I promise, I’ll just live for both of us, I’ll laugh for both of us . . . “ The first raindrop hit George’s shoulder and he shook his head, “Oh don’t cry, Fred, I know it’s gonna take us a while to feel okay again, I still have to sleep in Charlie’s old room, can’t stand rolling over and seeing the other bed empty in our room. But I’ll be okay, not today and tomorrow isn't looking too promising either, but eventually.” George stood and stared as the rain picked up to more than a few drops but he couldn’t seem to find it in him to leave. He waited, just staring at the fresh-turned ground then he sighed, his robes were getting soaked. George looked up, squinting as rain hit his face, then he nodded, “Okay, I know, I know, I’m going home, Fred.”

He was muddy and wet when he got into the car but he smiled, looking around at his family, “You know, if Fred were here, he’d probably say something about me needing my head drained, being that I have a big hole in my head. Probably say I should have worn a big floppy hat.”

There was a beat of silence then Charlie nodded, “He would say something like that.”

“Do you remember the time Fred and I charmed Ginny’s shoes and they danced their way into the garden and a gnome put them on?” George chuckled.

Ron snorted, “We heard the gnome yelling and carrying on . . . “

“Ran into the garden and there was a gnome, wearing our sister’s shoes being dragged behind them as they Riverdanced.” George laughed, tilting his head back, “I wonder if that was my idea or Fred’s?”

“Do you . . . remember the time-” Molly had a shaky smile as she recounted another such event of the twin’s tomfoolery.

George looked around the car as stories were told and smiles started to grow on tear-stained face, quiet chuckling became guffaws, and he breathed out slowly as tension, that had built and held every waking moment since That Day, relaxed just a little bit. That was better, he looked out the window as rain hit it, he could see his reflection a little and it made him pause, it looked like Fred wearing the same small smile and George felt a bit of peace wash over him just a little.

He’d get better, he’d heal, he’d do it for Fred and he’d do it for himself, “What about that time . . . “


End file.
